Be Your Own Hero
by MoonlessGalaxy
Summary: Duck your head, tuck your tail, disappear. Just Disappear. That's what she's always been told. But you'd be surprised at what a Stiff can do when they're pushed. Eris, contains violence and some swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: _I do not own Divergent_

Chapter 1

I wince as a groaning creak shudders through the stairs. Gnawing my lip with a vengeance, I inch my way up the protesting staircase. With no small amount of worry, I reach the top.

Step one, complete.

I almost smack a hand to my face as I realise I should have taken my shoes off. Not only did I create tracks in the pristine carpet, but I allowed myself to make even more noise! If Father catches me, I'm sure to be a goner.

The only thing to do is continue. With every step, I am closer to my room. Ten metres soon narrows down to five, all into one -

"Beatrice?"

My eyes widen as I whirl to face the voice.

"Look, I can explain - Caleb? What are you doing?" my voice portrays all the confusion I feel.

Standing on the other side of the hallway, shirt bulging with unmistakeable objects, is my brother. In fact, his shirt can only compare with my own stretched top. My brother? My painstakingly kind and abnegation brother?

I barely catch the mime of a zip being pulled tight against lips. I blink hard as he hurries into his room, one identical to mine. I shuffle almost dejectedly into my bedroom. My shoulders slump at the familiar site. Drab, grey walls match perfectly with a dreary and sagging bed, the only piece of furniture in an otherwise bare room. The only remarkable object is a ticking clock stuck on one wall.

I lean over the bed and lift my shirt up. A dull thump echoes as the book falls out. Lifting it with tremulous hands, I clutch it once more to my chest. It's the first time I've ever dared to bring one home. I fidget slightly as the smell of the musty pages leeches into the air.

Why would Caleb, of all people, be doing just the same as I am? Stealing - or as I like to call it, borrowing - books from school and risking our parent's finding out. The repercussions would not be pleasant.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head; the knowledge in these books could someday save a life. Or potentially create a new one. Who knows, with science advancing more and more every day.

"If only they knew what disappointments we are," I whisper harshly.

In my whole ten years, I have never been as ashamed of myself as now. Whatever rationalising I try to employ, I know that with my actions, I'm directly breaching the manifesto.

 _To rely not on myself, but on my brothers and sisters._

But I can't help that one thought in my mind, crying out and telling me with an accusing tone, _how can you rely on your brothers and sisters when your brother is the one doing the same as you?_

I gather my thoughts. There is no use in becoming self-obsessed. yet another rule of the Abnegation. I gather the old book in my hands. Embossed in gold, the title 'The Neuropsychology Of Self-Discipline' stands out with a background of worn leather. No doubt the pages will be well-thumbed through.

I twist my head sharply, almost hearing a crack. The ominous creak of that one stair fills me with dread. They're back. My breathing picks up as I rush around the room. There has to be somewhere to hide this book! My eyes dart frantically around the room as the steps steadily come closer and closer. The only damn things in this room are the bed and the clock.

"The clock," I breathe.

I lunge towards the clock. Though my footsteps create a din, hiding the book is more important than rationalising why I caused a noise.

My fumbling hand painstakingly slowly lifts the clock up. I can only hope there's enough room for my book. Raising the book, I place it on the wall and hook the clock back on the nail. A light creaking is heard as the strain of extra weight is placed on the nail. Holding my breath, I cross my fingers and count to five. When the book doesn't fall, I exhale and smile in relief. The only noticeable dilemma is the slight jutting out of the clock.

"Beatrice?" the door cracks open.

"Father," I smile politely.

"I hear a noise," he frowns, "Are you alright?"

A slight pang runs through me. Of course, Father would worry about me; is that not what we are brought up to do? And yet I fail in almost all aspects of our faction.

"I'm fine, thank you. I just tripped over."

"You're not hurt, are you?"

The constant questions irritate me, "No, I'm not hurt."

"Caleb has volunteered to cook us dinner tonight, Beatrice. I'm sure we'll all thank him, yes?" a stern disposition slips onto his face.

"Of course."

* * *

Head down, fictitious tail tucked between my legs, I scribble notes on a cramped piece of paper. With only one sheet to last the lesson, my writing is small. Trust the Erudites to have given themselves several sheets and the 'Stiffs' one.

I curse lightly as the ink blotches stain my hands and consequently my work. Restraining myself from crying out in frustration, I hold my hands away from the paper. I don't want my notes to be illegible.

"Why aren't you copying down what's on the board?" the sudden looming figure of the teacher startles me.

I glance helplessly to my hands, cheeks burning at being the centre of attention.

 _Duck your head, tuck your tail, just disappear._

Just disappear.

"Anything?" the teacher snaps, "Well since you deigned not to pay attention and work like every other respectable student, why should you not do the practical? We wouldn't want you to... fall behind."

Am I imagining the malevolent glint in her eye? Surely, at thirteen years of age, I am not so naïve as to invent an action out of fear?

I follow her beckoning command, slipping out of my chair and almost stumbling up to the desk.

"Put your hand out," the teacher commands.

One arm raises, palm turned up. The teacher reaches for a spray, liberally coating my hand with the substance. From her pocket, she drew a single lighter. With a flickering flame, my eyes grew wide. Even though I have managed to get the notes down, I am not ready to actually perform it! Let alone in front of twenty other dependents.

She tapes a burning splint onto the end of a metre ruler. Standing a few paces back, she reaches the stick out and the bright flame comes into contact with my hand.

With an almost inaudible sigh of air, the fire raced along my soaked hand. The blue flame flickers slightly as the heat returns to my hand. I stare at the fire, eyes filled with wonder. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out when the heat starts building.

I have held fire. It was so bright, so dangerous, yet it came with no pain. It's almost as if a spark of that fire has leapt from the flame and dived straight into me, into my soul. It is almost a welcoming feeling. Can it be compared to a hug? A warm embrace, felt with families and the ones they love?

It does not matter. Not when reality is calling, bringing screaming people yelling at me to douse my hand. To extinguish the flame; the question is, why? Are they not as drawn in as I am? Can they not see the fieriness, the passionate fever it induces, the - danger.

The danger.

Reaching for a nearby tap, I turn it on and slowly watch the cold water douse the blazing flames. Perhaps it had gotten a little... out of control. I stare at my palm, imagining those very same flames flickering in their blue light. Had they not hurt? I am so sure they hadn't. And yet, my hand is an inflamed red. I run a finger over the skin lightly. It almost scalds me to the touch.

Why am I not feeling any pain? Surely, with such an injury, there should be irritation at the least.

"You silly girl! Look at what you've done!" the teacher swoops upon me and shrieks.

I glance at her in consternation.

"You will have to go to the nurse, foolish child," she mumbles under her breath. Is she being... nice? An Erudite, nice to an Abnegation? My mother once told me I would rue the day when the above happened.

I am propelled towards the medical centre, her hand clutching my bicep. I frown at the general lack of resistance I would be able to put up if the situation was grave. Then again, I could hurt someone if I put up a fight. Abnegation aren't meant to do that. Not even if it means harm to themselves. I am shoved rather roughly through the door. With a final glare, the teacher turns to stalk back to her class.

"Hello dear, what's the matter?" another voice speaks up. Turning my head to the side, I notice a friendly-looking nurse dressed in reds and yellows. I always thought the Amity were harsh on the sight. Not at all like Dauntless, who sometimes seem to blend into the shadows as much as the Abnegation do, with their black clothing.

I gesture towards my hand, noticing the sudden inhale of air. Once more I am pulled and pushed around. This time, however, I am placed on a seat with reasonable gentleness. A coldness touched my hand and I jump. Looking down, I see a salve on my hand. It must have been made by Erudite - where else would it be made?

Snapped out of my thoughts (quite literally) with fingers clicking in front of my face, the nurse tuts.

"You seem to be in shock."

I shake myself mentally. The numbness from before, what I can only think of as adrenaline, is fading into the background. It hurt.

"I'm fine," I whisper.

"The burn on your hand doesn't say the same thing."

I am released from the overly kind nurse half an hour later, only once she is satisfied with my injury. My right hand is bound tightly in a bandage. The stark whiteness of the dressing contrasts brightly with my grey dress.

I keep my head down, attempting to hide my flaming cheeks from the other's in the corridor, but to no avail. Whispers meet my presence. With my head ducked, however, I am unable to see the Dauntless who moves to stand directly in front of me.

"Hello, girl on fire."

My head shoots up as I gaze at the Dauntless in shock. What did he call me? I attempt to sidestep him, not willing to draw even more attention to myself - though I doubt it's possible.

"We heard about what you did," he blocks my exit. My eyes are blank as I stare at him. For now, the only feeling I hold is apprehension.

"We'd like to invite you to sit at our table."

I gaze at the boy. Shock and surprise rampage through me, screaming their heads off at the unexpected occurrence.

"All apologies," I murmur, "But I doubt that would be taken kindly."

"By whom?" he shifts his balance and crosses his arms.

"Many," I attempt to pass him again.

"Who?" he insists.

"My father. My brother. Abnegation as a whole," I almost snap.

"Why?" his eyebrows shoot up in shock.

I want to scream at him. To ask him why he is so set on making my life harder, on making the following of the manifesto even more difficult.

"Because it would be to draw attention to myself."

I finally succeed in passing him. Jostling through the gathered crowds, I pant slightly. The aversion to physical contact, the downright rule against it almost forces a fear of it upon me. And with so many others crowding around me, it certainly isn't going to let me get away from its grasp.

"Hey, Stiff! Wait up!" the same boy from before shouts out.

I continue going and disregard him. I know I am not meant to, but I really don't want to draw even more attention to myself.

A hand grasps my bicep in the exact spot the teacher did earlier. I wince as the tender area is jostled. I hiss between my teeth before turning. Standing there is the boy. is it reasonable to call him a stalker? Cause that's what I damn think he is.

"What?" I snap. A hand flies to my mouth in shock. Did I just lose my temper? If my Father hears about this...

"My name's Uriah, alright? Think about my offer."

I half-tear my arm from his grasp. With a choking sound, I speed up and head towards home. The nurse kept me until the end of school, meaning I am in my full rights to go home. Opening the door, I shut it behind me and slump against it. Why is life so against me living a selfless life? Why will it not let me damn disappear?

Why can't I just be Abnegation?

* * *

I cross my legs beneath me and grab the book. Laying it on my legs, I reverently open the old cover. As I had imagined, the pages are a light yellow and the corners are folded over at several points. Flipping through the pages at a rate of knots, a small smile flies onto my face at the information. Self-discipline is more than it seems.

Clear your mind.

Acknowledge your weaknesses.

Practice tolerating emotional discomforts.

Clear your emotions from your mind, don't allow your feelings to hinder you.

Clear your mind; a form of meditation? The book says to practice deep and even breaths. I suppose it is a type of meditation.

I even my breaths, closing my eyes but keeping my back ramrod straight. Placing my hands on my knees, I let out a breath. It's almost as if I can feel the emotions inside me, though that is entirely unplausible. I shake my head slightly and imagine myself wiping away my thoughts. To leave a blank state, that is what is required.

When I feel as if my mind has cleared, I start the next step. Acknowledge your weaknesses; where to begin. What do I consider weaknesses? Surely selfishness. But that is my Abnegation longing speaking.

My weaknesses? What do I even believe to _be_ weaknesses? Cowardice. Allowing your emotions to cloud you. Ignorance - or as some call it, stupidity.

What does it say about me, that what I call weaknesses are in fact the weaknesses of three factions and not one? Certainly not that I am wholly Abnegation.

Next, practice tolerating emotional discomforts. Not something I am able to do here - unless...

I open my eyes. Setting the book back in its hidey-hole, I slip out of my room. Avoiding the creaking stair, I tiptoe over to a section of the wall panel. Fumbling around it, my fingers light upon a small indent. I push on it, smiling in satisfaction as the panel is pushed out. I close my eyes as I slide it aside and take a deep breath. Balling my hands up, I open my eyes with an exhale.

Standing in front of me is a fourteen-year-old girl. Blue-grey eyes peer through fair eyelashes. A narrow face is framed by straight blonde hair, layered over my shoulders. The waves from a previous plait are discernible.

Some could call this person pretty. Perhaps even beautiful, if they were to stretch it. I? I call this person ugly. I call her nose too large, her eyes too dull, her hair too plain. I call her body one of a little girl, perhaps the age of ten.

I also have the displeasure of calling her me.

"Face you emotional discomfort," I whisper harshly, forcing myself to drink the details in, "Face it like a coward wouldn't."

After a few minutes, I shut the mirror with shaking hands. I almost sprint up the stairs in an attempt to rid myself of the image engraved on the back of my eyelids. Taking a shaky breath, I shut my bedroom door behind me. I sit once more on the bed.

"Step four," I mutter, "Clearing my emotions."

I practice the same meditation as before, but instead of clearing my thoughts I clear the emotions that tend to run through me. Once I open my eyes I feel like a different person. I feel calm. I feel in control, cooly logical and aware of my surroundings.

It's almost as if this is who we're meant to be. Not cluttered with biased thoughts or emotions, not disabled with fears. It feels... dangerous. Dangerous as the flame I held in my hand. Yet it is of no danger to me, but to others around me. Especially those who would like to call themselves enemies of mine.

Especially them.

* * *

I run my hands along the spines of the books, breathing in the unique scent of aged books. With curiosity brimming inside of me, I linger on one book. 'The Art of Combat'. I slip it out of the shelf, watching the books in its vicinity topple to fill the gap. Flipping the cover open, I absent-mindedly flick through the book. The contents seem perfectly designed for a Dauntless. Hand to hand combat, rough guidelines on guns and knives (though nothing too detailed to my disappointment), techniques for self-defense and others. It's selfish to wish for more knowledge, but that's never stopped me. Not when I snuck home my first book, not when I absorbed everything I could in class, not even when I would get some of the highest grades in the year.

I tuck the book into my bag, sliding out of the library without receiving a second glance. It seems that with self-discipline, I mastered the art of disappearing.

I enter the canteen quietly. Hesitating, I glance over to the Abnegation table. I have sat there for more than seven years of my life, myself being fifteen now. But today? I feel like a bit of a... change.

Smirk alighting on my lips, I stride towards the table in the middle of the room. With raucous laughter, it raises the decibel level of the room. I have to suppress from straight out grinning. I haven't ben sure if I'm still welcome here, but I can't allow that Dauntless side of me to back away so quietly. I'm not going to let go of my bravery now.

Coming up behind him, I reach out a hand. With two fingers, I tap his shoulder lightly. Those opposite to him can see me plain as day and are understandably confused. Mid-laughter, he turns round to face me.

"What?"

"I decided to take your advice - if I'm still welcome."

"Well look who it is!" a girl stands up from the opposite side of the table, "We've waited a long time, girl on fire."

I roll my eyes at the nickname.

"You decided to join us? After two years?" Uriah asks.

With a full-blown smirk wrecking havoc with my features, I merely nod.

"You don't seem so stiff after all," he laughs and shuffles over to make room for me.

"You'd be surprised," I laugh along with him. It's rather... freeing, "At what a stiff can do if pushed."

* * *

Hello! I received a PM asking me to do an Eris fanfiction, so here it is! Please let me know what you think :)

Love ya Smiley-faces,

MG


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: _I do not own Divergent_

Chapter 2

I lay on my back, dragging myself under the bed. Looking up at the wooden slats that hold the mattress, I slide the book out from between the two. I smile as I push myself out. I brush the not-so-imaginary dust off my clothes and sit on the bed.

Flipping through the book, I pass the exercises I have completed. The first time I practised, I was a small and fleeting slip of a girl. To be honest? I still am. But I've gained muscles. I have filled out slightly, my strength slowly building up. I still have a preference for using an enemy's weight and motion against them. After all, I'm not built for brute force.

The techniques in the book have allowed me to perfect punches and kicks, to learn just how to stretch the elusive muscles that would otherwise hurt, and how to practice some types of martial arts. It was difficult at first. Where could I punch? Where would I be able to exert myself without someone hearing? Certainly not in this house, with the walls as thin as paper.

I couldn't practice during the day, not when the stark sunlight would illuminate me like a beacon. But during the night? Well, I've never known that to be off bounds. After all, no one's ever said 'No Beatrice, you can't go out and practice combat at night'.

I check the silence in the house once more; another struggle with having such thin walls is the ease in which my parents could hear me. Satisfied with the deadly calm, I inch my window open. The gap between the window sill and the window is soon wide enough. Angling myself so I will rest my stomach on the window sill, I slowly slide my legs through, the rest of me following. I grip the edges with my hands and hold on for dear life as my body slips through completely. Hanging from my fingertips, I glance down and let go. I land in a crouch so as to minimise the noise.

I creep through the moonlit streets. Within minutes I reach the woods. I suppose that some might call the reaching trees foreboding, yet this place is more of a home to me than my actual house. I laugh gleefully as I duck and weave around the branches, jumping over the rocks embedded in the floor. The freedom of the crisp night air, of the feeling of almost flying through the forest, sets my heart alight with joy.

Slowing down as my laughter calms, I follow the now well-trodden path to my secret spot here in the forest. Within minutes, I emerge into a calm clearing. A lone tree, seemingly decades or centuries old, stands in the centre of the expanse, grass littering the ground around it. It is enclosed by a circle of younger saplings and innumerous shrubs.

Rolling my shoulders, I jog towards the tree. It stretches far into the sky above me. From what I recall of my lessons, the tree must be an oak - based on the leaves and general shape of the tree, of course. I crouch down as I reach the base. Reaching toward a root, I dig my hand into the meagre space beneath the root.

Just enough space to... hide something, you could say.

Grinning as I withdraw a black bag, I sit back on my haunches. I pull the drawstring open and relax. Everything's here. Reaching my hand in, I take out the items one by one. Once I am finished, an amusing array of objects are scattered upon the grass. Three gleaming white knives lay side by side, accompanied by a length of white bandage. Set apart from them are two sleek, dark guns. With an ounce of regret, I bite my lip and shove the two guns back into the bag. On such a still night as this, it would be a foolish act to shatter the silence. Any gunshots would be heard clear as day - or is it night?

I grab the three knives and hoist myself up. I cast my eyes around for a branch of any sort. Spotting one not too far away, I drag it towards the large tree. As it is such an old specimen, I am very reluctant to damage it. Dropping the knives in favour of the bandage, I fix the branch to the tree and tie it in place with a rope of bandage. Whilst it's not the most stable target, it will do for a night.

I pick up the abandoned knives and tuck two in my back pocket. Holding one up to my eye, I fall into my instinctive position. Weight steady and balanced, I raise my arm holding the blade. Inhaling deeply, I exhale and fling the knife through the air. With a vicious and grim joy, the knife sticks firmly into the centre of the target.

Almost half a year of practice has formed me into a well-oiled machine. Even though I haven't been able to practice as much with my guns, I am reasonably proficient at them as well.

I throw the other two knives and grin as they hit the branch point first in the same spot as the first one. The crack threatening to split the branch in half is one of the most satisfying sights.

It was a damn lucky day when Uriah snuck these to me.

* * *

It is with slight regret that I have to sneak the books back to the library. I have only a week left before my aptitude test and I have no more use for these books. Even though I undoubtedly have a sentimental attachment to the books that have propelled me towards my current life, I will not be able to take them with me on the 'next step in life'.

Slinking into the dining hall, I grin at the sight of the Dauntless table. As raucous and rule-breaking as ever. Aren't I just lucky to have been associated with them for over a year now? Admittedly, my parents were not pleased when they heard. Luckily for me, it only took a small amount of persuasion and the slight comment about how 'I couldn't deny them the request, not when we aim to help others'.

That told them.

I slide onto the seat next to Uriah; one that's almost permanently saved for me now.

"Hey, guys," I grin.

A chorus of greetings meets my ears like the sound of a pleasant combine harvester that the amity love. Loud, dissonant and grating on the nerves. Perhaps the Dauntless should change their memo to 'I vow to always be loud, chaotic and annoying'. It suits them perfectly, right?

"One week to the tests," I mutter as I grab my lunch out of my bag. My lips twist at the reminder of the bland fare we eat daily.

"You're worried?" Lynn raises an eyebrow.

"As if," I snort, "I know my place in the world. It's not like I spent the last six months of my life preparing for it all for nothing, did I?"

Marlene interjects through a mouthful of food, "How often do you train though?"

"With knives, every night. With guns, only when I'm sure the shots won't be heard."

"Hope you don't show us all up in initiation," Uriah mumbles.

I grin at the trio, baring my teeth carnally.

"Real stiff, stiff," Lynn rolls her eyes.

"Real manly, little girl."

* * *

I shudder slightly, wiping my sweaty hands on the dull grey dress I am forced to wear. Seconds ago, a man opened one of the three doors and called my brother in. That means I'm next. Sure, I might be certain of my faction of choice, but I'm not certain what I'll be receiving for my aptitudes. And that scares me because it's almost as if they define who you truly are.

"Beatrice Prior."

My breath hitches for a second as I push myself off the clammy plastic seat with shaking hands. Focusing my attention on the door in the middle of the three, I walk with unsteady feet towards the woman. She's Dauntless, the tattoo on her neck and her black clothing making it obvious.

"Never knew a Stiff to be so curious."

I scold the harsh heat that wishes to inflame my cheeks, once again withdrawing the emotions inside of me. I follow the Dauntless woman into the room, glancing around quickly as I do so. The only furnishings are a reclining, white chair, a white table, a computer and a tray with a glass holding a blue liquid that rests upon the table. However, instead of thinking 'Hey, we'll make the room look like a normal but absurdly sterile room', some ridiculous chap decided to say 'Make it so that the Abnegation have to face themselves'.

I scowl at the mirrors edging the room. Lurking in the recess of my mind is the thought that an Erudite must have built this, for it to be so blatantly in opposition to the Abnegation. Fortunately for me, I know exactly what I look like (thanks to my excursions with my book) and I won't have to embarrass myself by gawking at my reflection.

"What's the mirror ever done to you?" the woman asks in amusement as she eyes my scowl.

"Exist," I mutter under my breath as I lie down on the chair.

She snorts, "Anyway, Beatrice, my name is Tori. I have volunteered to administer the tests today."

I tap my fingers slightly as she approaches with the shot glass.

"Drink up," she offers the glass.

Holding it in my hands, I can't help but wonder what's in here. With a deep blue hue, the mouthwash-like liquid is unappealing.

"What's in here?" I ask as I hold the drink up to the light.

"Go ask the Erudite. All I know is that it's a serum that connects you to the simulation."

Eyeing it one more time, I toss it to the back of my throat as I've seen Dauntless do with actual shots. Shuddering as the liquid slips down my throat, I can feel the room start to spin around me. I frown as the world turns black.

Starting upright, I open my eyes. Funny, I don't remember closing them. I scramble off the chair. I am in the same room as earlier, yet it seems more spacious. Glancing around the room, I am taken aback. The chair, on which I had been lying only seconds ago, has vanished.

"Choose."

I spin around to face the voice. I can't see anyone, yet only a short distance in front of me is a table with two items on it: a knife and a block of cheese. They seemed to appear as quickly as the chair disappeared.

"Choose," the voice is oddly impatient.

"What if I don't want to?" I ask.

"Choose!"

I glare at the table and cross my arms. I will be stubborn to the end, even if it kills me.

A low growl fills the room, causing me to turn around once more. Advancing upon me is an Alsatian. Almost as high as my waist, the dog is hulking and dangerous. With its teeth bared animalistically, its giant paws come crashing down upon the floor with such force that it feels like a miniature earthquake. I frown, running through the information in my head. I fall quickly to my knees, lowering myself until I lie on my belly.

I resist the urge to tap my fingers as hot breath lands on my neck. The heavy panting right next to my ear is of no comfort either. I close my eyes briefly, hearing a high pitched whine in the next instant. Laughing slightly shakily, I push myself off the floor and glance at the dog. Where a large dog once stood, a puppy now rolls about. I scratch it's stomach lightly.

All I had needed to do in that one was submit, however much I didn't like it. A growl - one that was most definitely not from a puppy - rumbles through the room. I turn my gaze back on the dog, where it had been before my thoughts wandered. To my surprise, the dog from before is now standing with its hackles raised.

And the object of its gaze? A girl. One dressed in a grey dress, with blonde hair and a nose too big for her thin features. I can't help but wonder why my younger self is here.

Her hand reaches out to the dog, shouting, "Puppy!"

My eyes widen as the dog leaps towards her. Sprinting after it, I throw myself towards the dog and land on - the floor? I struggle for my breath. I hadn't prepared myself for a hard landing, expecting the dog to still be under me.

I shove myself off the floor. Strangely, I feel the scraping of gravel against my hands. Glancing around, I recognise a view from my childhood. The bus station. And standing right in front of me is the very vehicle. With a wry grin, I step onto the bus. After all, when am I ever going to get this chance again? As Abnegation, I've always walked to make room for others on the bus.

Taking a seat in the front row, I feel the vehicle jolt forwards. A thump vibrates through the seats and I glance to the side. What I see causes a shiver to run down my back.

A man, face burnt and scarred, turns his disfigured visage towards me. I can only wince at the thought of the horrors one would have to go through to earn that appearance.

"Have you seen this man?" the urgent voice, accompanied with the thrusting of a newspaper into my face, casts suspicion on the man.

Scouring my eyes over the image, my breath catches slightly. He looks familiar, almost like my brother. In fact, he looks like an older version of him. I can't help but feel indebted to the man.

"Have you seen this man?" the man shouts louder.

"No," I mutter.

"You're lying!" he shrieks. I flinch as a strong grip clamps around my wrist, "I can tell that you're lying! You could save me!"

"I've never seen this man, I'm sorry! Get off me!" my voice is shriller than I intend it to be.

I stand up, wrenching my wrist away from the insane man. The force behind the motion is too strong and I overbalance.

Gasping, my torso shoots up. My arms clench on the rests, pulse erratically wild. I pant for breath as I stare at Tori. She's rushing about the electronics, pulling wires out here and there. Her brow is furrowed into a frown and dare I say it, she almost looks... scared.

"Tori?" I rasp, reaching for the water next to me.

"Tris," her voice is as urgent as the man on the bus' was, "Do you know what you just did?"

"An aptitude test?"

"Now is not the time to be snarky!"

She yanks out one more wire before slowing down and sitting on the chair. Wheeling forward to the computer, she types with a speed not often seen.

"What were my results?" I ask as my curiosity practically explodes.

"Abnegation - "

I sink into my seat as my body slumps, sipping the water moodily.

"Dauntless and Erudite."

I choke on the water, placing the cup aside as I cough.

"What?" I exclaim.

"You have three results," she shakes her head, "That means you're divergent."

"Divergent?"

"Yes, divergence is the - "

"Tendency to diverge from the norm, in this circumstance the mindset and the way of thinking."

"How does a Stiff like you know that?"

I ignore the question, swinging off the chair and groaning as the blood rushes to my head. I shake it off with a huff.

"Beatrice, you can't tell anyone. One result is closely guarded, let alone two. But three? That could get you killed."

I look at her weirdly, "You think I would? Even if we weren't encouraged to not tell anyone, I doubt the fact that I am divergent would be a good basis for my familial relationships or a relevant conversation starter."

She raises her eyebrows before bursting into laughter.

"What?" I frown.

"Just call it your inner Erudite. It's amusing to see an Abnegation factually stating things like a nose would."

I shake my head in bemusement.

"What am I meant to tell people?"

"You received Abnegation. That's what I have entered you manually as, due to the computer malfunction," her eyes drift to the mess of wires tangled on the floor.

Nodding absentmindedly, I fiddle with the simple grey watch on my wrist. With only ten minutes until we are to be released for home, it wouldn't be very offbeat of me to head home now.

"Thanks, Tori," I call over my shoulder as I leave the room.

Rolling my neck to adjust from the hard seat, I pace towards the doors. there is already a trickle of students leaving, so I won't be spotted.

I drag my feet lightly along the gravel path, so much like the one in the simulation. In fact, what is there to show that the simulation wasn't indeed real? And what if this is the simulation, not reality? I stumble slightly, righting myself instantly. I chuckle at the direction my thoughts took. Almost... Erudite of me. Then again? I suppose it is, considering my aptitude results. I lift my gaze off the floor to observe the dull grey streets. Where there used to be factionless milling around, they have decreased greatly in numbers. I'm not certain why.

I force a scream back as a hand latches around my wrist. Once again, the test claws its way back into my thoughts. The same wrist, a similarly brutal grip. I spin to face the assailant. Sitting on the ground, legs crossed, is one of the very men I was thinking about.

"Food," his harsh voice growls.

I pull my wrist out of his loosening grip. Digging out the plastic bag from my rucksack, I shove the dried apple slices towards him. He once again grasps my arm, tugging me closer to him. I can almost feel his gaze scouring my face.

"Well, aren't you pretty," he croons.

I blanch at the statement, trying to pull my hand away. Yet it seems as if his grip has turned to steel, the slowly discolouring skin no deterrent to him. However much I do wish to force him to release me, it wouldn't be taken very lightly here in Abnegation - even if there are only a few hours until the ceremony and I can finally choose where I want to be.

"Please let go of my wrist," I force the words out through gritted teeth.

"Choose wisely, girl. Choose wisely," he grins, showcasing stained and broken teeth.

He releases my hand, causing me to lurch backwards. I step away from the disturbing old man with wild hair, lengthening the distance between us significantly.

"Choose wisely," he cackles.

* * *

Hi again! Sorry for the wait, I've been busy with revision and exams and all the like. I want to thank all of you for the amazing support chapter one got! It's been so encouraging, and I can only hope that you enjoy the ones to follow just as much.

Thank you, smiley faces :)

MG


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: _I do not own Divergent._

Chapter 3

I stare at the pale hands in my lap. Tracing almost unnoticeable callouses and slivers of scars, I let a shaky breath go. My nerves flutter as butterflies swoop and soar inside of me. I glance around the room quickly, not enough to incriminate me as something more than an Abnegation, but enough to gauge the feelings of those around me.

Caleb, the ever steady rock, doesn't seem so steady anymore. His face is paler than usual as his telltale clammy hands fidgeting with his uniform.

My mother, a sea of calm amidst distress and nerves. She's smiling though I can see the sadness in her eyes.

My father, an image of the leader he is. Straight back, head up, reproachful glances towards noisier areas. He's the image of disapproval, not what one would expect from an Abnegation - especially a council member.

One thing caught my attention more than any other aspect. Centred on the stage, five bowls were placed. Five bowls that would determine the future of each initiate gathered here.

"It's scary when you think of it, isn't it?" Caleb whispers quietly from his seat to my right. I let my eyes flicker to him, catching his gaze as I offer a small smile.

"It's scary, though it shouldn't be. We both know where we're going, don't we? There's no use in pretending," I breathe.

"When we leave this room, you will no longer be dependents, but full-fledged members of our society. Faction before blood."

The voices rumbled through the room, "Faction before blood."

A hand strokes mine. I raise my eyebrows in surprise, tilting my head to the left. My mother, the small yet sorrowful smile still gracing her face, brushes her fingers against mine.

Her voice as soft as ours, she says, "I love you."

The shock of the statement leaves me reeling. I don't believe that there has been a single day where my mother or father have willingly said those words to me, whether it is because of a compulsion to abide the silent rules of no affection or because of the need to be selfless.

"Caleb Prior!"

I stand numbly, allowing my brother to pass by. My eyes track his movements down the stairs. Marcus is smiling at him, knowing eyes welcoming him to the Abnegation bowl.

But I'm the only one who knows he won't be letting his blood fall there, just like he's the only one who knows that my blood won't be either.

The knife digs into his hand, a bead of blood swelling up from the injury. He cuts straight to the point as he lets his hand hover over the bowl of water.

"Erudite."

I catch a glimpse of the betrayal in my father's eyes, the shimmer of hurt lacing his thoughts. I can only hope he won't let his thoughts affect his actions.

Jeanine Matthews, whom I had met only minutes before the ceremony, stands to welcome my brother into her faction. The butterflies in my stomach die as he readily accepts her touch. Our family, made of two traitors and two betrayed parents.

"Quiet, please!" Marcus raises his voice to the thunderous crowds, "Beatrice Prior."

I raise myself to my feet, shaky legs unwilling to support me. I almost trip on the stairs as they nearly give out under me. With one final step, I am before the five bowls. Glowing coals, drab grey stones, pink-tinged water, claret-stained glass and sodden soil.

The knife absent-mindedly cuts too deep, the gash likely to add to the scars littering my hands from throwing knives. I hiss through my teeth at the pain. The knife is set back on the table with a dull ring.

The pressure lays itself on me bodily, directing my thoughts to the very bowl I'm escaping from. My hand drifts softly to the grey stones which resemble the villages I have grown up in.

My eyes widen in alarm; no matter what the gazes from my family wish, I can't allow the bead of blood that is inching ever closer to falling splatter on the rocks. No, I know where it must end up. With no time to spare, I shift my hand to the left. A sizzle brings the unwanted statement upon my family.

"Dauntless."

Uproar greater than when my brother transferred grows from murmurs, outraged cries running rife in the previous silence.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, gaze flickering towards my mother and father.

The two look like direct opposites; one, a wistful yet accepting tilt of the lips, the other a harsh furrowing of his brows. And I grow steadily further away from them, my feet carrying me to my new future. My selfish, brave future, filled with cheers and whoops for me.

I stiffen as hands clap on my back, someone pulling me forward to take his seat. _I finally did it_ , I think, _I'm going somewhere where I can fit in for once_. Averting my gaze from my parents' stares, I grimace at the excess blood on my hand. I had buried the knife too deep. Luckily for me, the cut doesn't reach my radial artery.

The remainder of the ceremony passes by in a blur of names, faces and factions. Both terrifyingly short and tediously long, it is an indeterminable amount of time until I am pulled to my feet by the Dauntless member sitting next to me. The tide of yelling members tugs me into a run. We leap down the stairs, taking them three at a time - if not more. The crash of feet pounding on concrete outside sets a beat to my harsh panting.

A smile emerges on my face. The thrill of the run pumps my blood. _Faster_ , I think, _I have to run faster or I'll be left behind_. No amount of training, however much I pushed myself, could prepare me for this beautifully messed up masterpiece. My leaden legs thump on the ground in time to my quick pants. The looming iron columns are approaching quickly, the leading members already scaling them. I take note of their method - it will come in use in a few seconds.

Caught up in the rush, I almost run into one of the metal supports. I fumble as I grip the bolts jutting out. Heaving my legs up, I climb the haphazard ladder, clinging to the column for dear life.

"I did it," I whisper between breaths.

"We're not even halfway there yet, Stiff," a voice interrupts my heavy breaths.

I know he's teasing, but my cheeks darken in embarrassment.

"Cut it out, Uriah. I will get Lynn over here," I threaten him lightly.

"You know what? You're alright," he acts out backing away.

I roll my eyes, a shiver running down my back as a distant thundering reaches my hearing.

"Get ready! The train's up and coming," a voice yells from further up the line of people.

I clench my fists, trying to stop the shaking in my hands. We have to jump onto a moving chunk of metal going at God knows what speed. And if we fail, we most likely die. The Erudite in me protests at the lack of estimation about the speed, shoving calculations learnt in school into my mind.

"Too late for that," I murmur, "I've already chosen Dauntless."

"Huh?"

"Don't worry, Uriah. Just muttering," I wave away his intrigue.

The train is minutes away, lessening the distance between us with each passing second, lessening the time we have until we jump. I swallow thickly.

Uriah tugs me along by the arm roughly until I break into a run. My legs protest slightly, the sprint from earlier taking its toll. I grit my teeth and push harder. _I will not be factionless_. The first of the queue swing themselves in, smooth practised movements easing the act. The edge of the bridge inches closer, many already resting inside the hunk of metal.

Uriah reaches an open door and leaps in. I pump my arms, desperate to increase my speed. Reaching the handle agonisingly slowly, I latch onto it and pull myself in roughly. I sit down by the edge of the door, panting heavily as my legs shake.

A laugh beside me startles me.

"Christina," a breathy voice introduces herself.

I struggle with my name. Do I use Beatrice, my past, or Tris, my future?

"Tris," I grin, "It's Tris."

PAGE BREAK

"Tris," she pales, "I think they're jumping."

I stick my head out of the train briefly, enough to spot the figures flinging themselves from the first carriage.

"They can't be serious," I shake my head.

"Are Dauntless ever serious?" she snorts "Anyway, I thought you always hung out with the Dauntless? Aren't you meant to know these things?"

"I hang out with Uriah," I correct her as I stand up.

The wind from the gaping door only a foot away causes me to sway. I offer my hand to Christina, pulling her to her feet. Members are jumping from our carriage already, not giving us much time.

"Together?" she proposes.

"Sure," I shrug breathlessly, "Three, two - "

We rush towards the edge as I finish my countdown, springing out of the carriage. My heart pumps erratically as we fly through the air. We land with a thump, scattering gravel and ripping our clothes. I suck in breath greedily, attempting to fix the winded state our landing left me in. I turn to stare at Christina as she laughs.

"We - we just did that?" her laughter turns hysterical.

"I guess we did," I shake my head in exasperation.

A shriek startles me out of the clouds. A girl is hanging over the edge of the building, reach out to the ground. Heaving myself to my feet with a resulting sprinkle of rocks, I shuffle towards the girl in question. Peeking over the edge, I catch a glimpse of broken limbs, blood-stained stones and ripped black clothing. I choke at the sight, a wave of nausea running through me. Whipping my head around, I search desperately for someone to help, to deal with it. No one is remotely bothered by it.

 _Of course they're not - this is Dauntless_. That was just one dependent who didn't make it, just like all the others. Just like what I can't be.

I back away from the scene silently. For once, my Abnegation in me is protesting violently, shoving me to help the girl shrieking for her - presumably - friend or sister to come back.

"Listen up!" a voice echoes over the flat building top, "I'm Eric, one of the leaders here at Dauntless."

I join the crowds gathered around the edge of the building, standing by Christina's side. The man who had evidently spoken, Eric, is stood uncaringly on the lip of the roof. Yet he looks too young to be called a leader; in Abnegation, our leaders are older, signifying wisdom. All piercings and tattoos, he symbolises the image of a 'hooligan', as my father would call them.

 _He's not here_ , I remind myself, _you left him_.

"This is the entrance to Dauntless. To get in, you have to jump. And if you don't have the guts to do it? You don't belong here."

I turn to Christina, wondering if she's in as much shock as I am. True, it is to be expected - the ruthlessness, the lack of concern about dependents lives. That doesn't mean it isn't shocking.

An Erudite - _you could have gone there_ , a thought interrupts - frowns in indignation, "Is there water or something?"

"Really?" I mutter, "Kind of a stupid question for an Erudite. Even if there is water, we would splat on it like it was concrete."

Christina ducks her head to regain control of her emotions.

"Jump. You'll find out. Or not, if you don't jump."

The Erudite shifts back slightly, alarmed by the response.

"Who's it going to be?" he growls.

The initiates shift, each of us glancing around to see if anyone will be brave enough to volunteer. No one steps forth.

"Me," I mutter.

Christina turns to stare at me in shock.

"Me. I'll go first."

"Tris, are you - "

The two Dauntless initiates in front of me part slightly to allow me passage.

Eric takes a step off the ledge, hitting the ground with an echoing thump. A glare from the leader silences the outspoken Erudite. I swallow thickly as I take the step onto the ledge. Peering over the edge, I hurriedly look away from the sight of the gaping black hole, jagged concrete edges threatening an unpleasant death. I turn slowly to face the crowd.

"Sometime today, initiate."

I let my eyes flicker briefly to his cold blue before averting my gaze. Yet I can't forget my self-taught lessons, urging me to tamp down the rising fear until it's at a manageable level.

Stripping off my grey cardigan, I relish the feeling of the wind against my bare arms.

"Yeah, take it off, Stiff," jeers a blue-coated man.

Bundling up my cardigan, I fumble with the ball of clothing before an idea comes to mind. Though the Abnegation in me protests it, I steel my determination. Aiming carefully, I throw the bundle hard. It hits the Erudite square in the face.

My eyes widen as the movement over-balances me. I teeter slightly before allowing myself to fall. My breath catches in my throat, my fear being forgotten as I fall through the air down into the pitch black pit. My back hits string before my body is flung up into the air briefly. I lay on the net, cursing myself for not having thought of it as a possibility. Of _course_ there would be a net.

The mesh tilts, forcing my body to roll towards the edge. I grasp an outstretched arm. With a dizzying whirl, I am on my feet.

"A Stiff? First jumper? What, were you pushed or something?" the eyebrow-pierced woman helping me up snorts.

"I jumped."

And if I allowed a little venom in my voice, who would know?

"What's your name?"

I stick with my earlier decision, "Tris."

"First jumper, Tris!"

A grin splits my face when cheers from the crowd buffet my ears, though some members seem more concerned in frowning at my grey clothing. I guess that'll have to be changed soon, whether they give us new clothing or we have to buy it.

A scream reverberates down the drop, a body slamming into the net. I stare on in disbelief, uncertain how such a feminine scream could be linked to the person in front of me.

"Second jumper, Uriah!"

"You scream like a little girl," I tease him as he comes to stand by me.

"I do not," his cheeks flush.

"Anyway," I continue, "Where were you? I couldn't see you in our carriage."

"Some idiot dared me to hang out of the train," he rolls his eyes.

"What?" I gawk at him.

He shrugs, "It's not like I haven't done it before."

I shake my head in disbelief. The lengths the dares at Dauntless go, I'm not surprised they have the highest death rate of the factions. Even though Uriah's told me countless tales of dares, the buzz of alcohol and the nervous energy adrenaline gives you, the thought of climbing towering structures and hanging out of trains doesn't appeal to me. I keep an eye out for Christina. At least I know one person who's going to be with me during our initiation. She soon falls into the net, her limbs flailing as she is tossed into the air. A grin surfaces on my face.

"You know her?" Uriah mutters.

"Yeah, I met her on the train. Her name's Christina," I wave her over as she clambers down from the net.

Her eyes are blown wide as she stumbles over, "How the hell did you not scream, Tris? I couldn't stop."

"Trissy's just too macho to scream," Uriah grins, sticking his hand out to Christina, "Uriah. I gave Tris here her name."

"Huh? Shouldn't her parents do that?" she grasps his hand, shaking it.

I flush in embarrassment, punching Uriah on his arm, "Ignore him, he means my nickname."

"Oh?" her eyes flash with interest, "What's your full name then?"

Uriah glances at me, trying to see if I will tell her.

"Fine," I grumble, "But no telling anyone. I will murder you in your sleep if I have to."

"She'd probably do it too," Uriah shrugs.

"My lips are zipped."

I close the distance between us to whisper, "Beatrice."

Her brows raise as she stares at me.

"Really? Beatrice? What possessed your parents to name you that?"

"This is why I didn't want to tell you!" I throw my hands up in frustration. True to my words, I gave up on telling any Dauntless my proper name when all I got were frank stares and mocking laughs. I gladly accepted Uriah's nickname.

"Alright, initiates! Dauntless born with Lauren, transfers with me."

I look towards the source of the words. A man, roughly the same age as Eric, is heading towards us from the opposite side of the net. Whilst he is intimidating, he doesn't stand out in his dark clothing and unassuming look. He certainly doesn't look like the rest of Dauntless.

"Good luck with Four, Tris," Uriah whispers.

I wave him off, not trusting my voice. Our small group of transfers follows 'Four' over dimly lit rocky paths. Christina gasps as the small handrail ends abruptly. The chasm to our left crashes ominously, water cascading and spraying us.

"My name is Four," he calls out over the din, "And I will be your instructor."

I pass a hand over my brow as Christina snorts.

This is going to be a long initiation.

* * *

Sorry for the wait for this chapter! I truly did mean to continue writing, but I got a horrible case of writer's block and essentially abandoned all my stories. Oops?

Anyway, big thanks to DragonMaster65, one of the most amazing Eris authors, for helping me assemble an idea of where I want to take this and how I want the plot to shape instead of just leaving me to scribbling stuff on my chalkboard of random ideas :)

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

MG


End file.
